Iris
by Anonymous Writer
Summary: Um, I think this should be PG, nothing too bad. A songfic about Tobias, takes place in # 19 and I stopped reading the books a while ago so AU after whatever.


iris

AN: I was inspired for this by a scene on page 7 of Animorphs 33, The Illusion. You might want to read up to at least page 8 before you start this so you know just what happens before and after. The first 2 paragraphs of this are excerpts from the book, as is the very last line. And, well . . . the rest belongs to me and the Goo Goo Dolls. Enjoy, please?

"Just dance with me, Tobias. Please." A slow song started. I was surprised. I actually knew this one. Goo Goo Dolls. Couples filled up the dance floor. Cassie and Jake were on the other side of the gym, swaying gently, arms around each other.

Rachel reached out and took my hand.

_And I'd give up forever to touch you  
'Cause I know that you feel me somehow_

I closed my eyes and remembered how I knew this song. A few years ago, before I really knew Rachel or the rest of my now-best-friends, I'd gone to see a movie, City of Angels. It hadn't been hard to get away from my uncle, who sat drunkenly staring at the TV as I asked him if I could, directing questions at me in a monotone. I knew I couldn't expect money from him, that much was obvious, but as I stood at the door, about to walk out, crumpling the five-dollar bill I had in my hands, my lip trembled and I knew I didn't _want _money. I wanted something more. Not affection--it was obvious I'd never get that from my relatives. But acceptance would have been enough.

_You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be  
And I don't wanna go home right now_

My life wasn't all that much greater as an Animorph. Most people would probably, in fact, say it was worse, but at least I now had friends. And Rachel--much more than a friend. _She's like . . . my own corner of heaven._ At this thought, my musings returned to City of Angels. I had simply loved the movie, but even more its music. In fact, I liked it so much it stayed on my mind all that year, and when I did talk, which was rare, it was usually on that subject. My bratty older cousin Margot, a fat, freckled girl permanently missing her front tooth from a fight, was my best (and only) friend at that time, and she heard about it every week. After hearing me go on in my shy whispery voice for any extended period of time, her squinty eyes would cross and she'd kick me in the shin and tell me to shut up.

_And all I can taste is this moment  
And all I can breathe is your life_

Rachel, who was about my height, buried her face in my neck and sighed. I went all stiff and couldn't figure out how to move for a few seconds, but it felt really nice, so I gingerly placed my head on top of hers. A few shimmering blonde strands got in my mouth; I sharply pulled my face up, but unfortunately, the hairs came with it. (Luckily, they didn't pull all the way out.) We both giggled, and I removed the wisp and smoothed the top of her well-groomed mane. Returning to our original head-resting position, we were silent, and I discovered that her hair tasted good--_like sweet applesauce,_ I thought wonderingly. I hadn't known someone's _hair _could taste like that. Rachel's warm breath tickled my neck, reminding me to breathe myself. For a few moments, watching how the light hit her hair and made a halo, I'd forgotten. Now I plunged my nose deep into her forest of beautiful locks and took a deep breath.

_And, sooner or later, it's over  
I just don't wanna miss you tonight_

It smelled like applesauce, too. I loved that smell, but unfortunately it reminded me of an instance a long while ago when Margot and I had been making that very dessert, and in a not-so-rare fit of anger, she'd emptied the whole container onto my face. It had been a few weeks before Christmas, and I knew she was getting all the presents I was not. She wasn't spoiled; while quite hostile, Margot didn't gloat over her toys, preferring to play with me (in other words: knock me out), so I didn't see why her father (respectively, brother and brother-in-law to the aunt and her ex-husband I was in the care of) kept buying her things. She hardly looked twice at them. For once, I wished I was in her place, because while wiping the turned-cold sauce from my face, I wished desperately for the soundtrack to City of Angels as a Christmas present.

_And I don't want the world to see me  
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand_

Apparently Margot felt just a touch of remorse for the applesauce incident (turned out the handpicked apples we'd used had been in a clump of poison ivy, which I then got all over my face). Or maybe she was just chatting with her dad one day and happened to bring it up. Either way, she must have slipped the information about my Christmas wish to him, because on December 25, I found one more present than my usual three under the plastic, battered pine. Unlike the others in plastic shopping bags, this tiny item was wrapped neatly in sparkling gold paper, and once I'd dutifully thanked my aunt for the cheap gifts, I tore off the paper eagerly. I was so happy I almost smiled (somewhere along the way I'd forgotten how). It was the CD I wanted.

_When everything's made to be broken  
I just want you to know who I am_

Rachel's nose accidentally nudged my shoulder, jerking my mind back to her. She felt so _right _in my arms, like a natural extension of myself. I studied the back of her neck, which I had a good view of. It was beautifully, wildly bronze-gold, though I could make out the tip of a bathing suit tan line escaping into the safety of all that naturally blonde hair. That too was gorgeous, sliding down her back like butter-colored molasses, seeming to melt a few inches below her shoulders. Below that, her pale-blue dress snaked towards the floor, down and--I blushed and didn't look down any further. Instead I looked up at the gym ceiling, painful fluorescent lights mercifully turned off. Instead there were streamers, a glittering disco ball, and in all the windows, fake electric candles. _Very classy._

_And you can't fight the tears that ain't comin'  
Or the moment of truth in your lies_

Rather than waste my thoughts on the decorum there, I returned them to Margot's dad's present. Naturally he wasn't doing it to show he liked me; no one in the entire family ever would. He was just indirectly bragging how rich he was and how he could buy me anything, whether I wanted it or not. Luckily, I did want this, and as soon as the phone rang and my aunt picked it up, proceeding to ignore me for the next hour, I sprinted upstairs and put the CD on my junky stereo, listening to song after song. My favorite quickly became Iris, by the Goo Goo Dolls, and I was so glad I'd always have it now. But, not too long afterward, I took a stroll through an empty construction site and was trapped as a red-tailed hawk within weeks.

_When everything feels like the movies  
And you bleed just to know you're alive_

How touching. The pathetic boy-turned-hawk couldn't hear his favorite song anymore. Strangely, I dreamed as a hawk, sometimes epic nightmares, other times just snatches of dialogues, muffled sobbing, a sudden vision of terrified eyes upon mine. One recurring dream I had reminded me vividly of _something, _but I could never catch exactly what. When I awoke, I'd be clawing at myself frantically as if trying to make myself bleed, trying to prove this wasn't a dream, and all through the day I'd rack my brains attempting to remember what it was in the dream that was so . . . real. But now, sneakers squeaking across a crowded dance floor, holding my angel Rachel tight, I knew. _That _came as a surprise to me--I almost laughed out loud. This song, Iris, was what the dream made me think of. And the fantasy itself was of angels, dozens in feathered wings like mine, chasing after me. They were good-natured; I just didn't want to leave this life.

_And I don't want the world to see me  
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand_

I didn't tell Rachel now. I had a feeling she wouldn't understand, as she was always the one who was trying to get me trapped as a boy again, so I could be happy and she wouldn't have a freak boyfriend. I loved her and knew she meant well, but I was proud to fight as an Animorph, to defend Earth against the Yeerks. How could I give it up? _To hear your favorite song again, _whispered an unsettling voice in my head. What was that supposed to mean? Troubled but shaking it off, I caught Rachel off guard and spun her around. She laughed, and her eyes sparkled at mine. They were so beautifully blue, the color of the sky I spent most of my time in. I thought defensively, _I love flying. I'm _that_ happy as a hawk._

_When everything's made to be broken  
I just want you to know who I am_

The long instrumental part I liked came, and I couldn't have felt more complete. Here was Rachel, the girl without whom my life meant little, and we loved each other, and I was dancing with her. In fact, she loved me so much she just wanted to be with me and would sacrifice one of the Animorphs--OK, me--for that. I grinned, recalling how she was always trying to get me to stay as a human for over two hours. _Over two hours . . . _Something didn't feel right. I restlessly looked all around me, repeating assurances to myself that it was nothing. The singing started up again.

_And I don't want the world to see me  
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand--_

And then I saw . . . the clock.


End file.
